


Sheltered

by orphan_account



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Smut, seriously the smuttiest thing I've written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't stop himself from saying it. "I could - ah - keep you warm." </p><p>Ellie and Alec are trapped together during a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheltered

When Ellie rang Hardy up and suggested that he come to Broadchurch for a visit, this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind.

He was sitting on the outskirts of the group, watching as Ellie, Lucy, Beth and Olly shared a raucous conversation. Chloe and Tom were off kicking the football together. The only one who paid any attention to him was Fred.

He’d been dreaming of this day for the past week, thinking how nice it would be to spend time with Ellie and her sons. The addition of her sister, nephew, best friend and best friend’s children was not something he had bargained for, and as Fred babbled happily to him he couldn’t help throwing a sour look at them, feeling a little cheated.

Eventually he couldn’t stand it any longer. He drew Ellie aside and asked her in a stumbling, roundabout way if they could ditch the others.

‘Just… haven’t seen you in ages, and I’ve barely gotten to talk to you today,’ he mumbled, addressing his shoes.

Touched, Ellie agreed. She announced that she wanted to go for a walk along the coastal path, knowing full well that Lucy and Olly would balk at exercise and that Beth wouldn’t want to take little Lizzie on the steep track. They duly refused her invitation. Tom and Fred also elected to stay behind, so the group waved the two of them off.

Quietly, Lucy muttered to her son, ‘bet you a tenner she snogs him before the day is out.’

‘Stuff that, I’ll bet twenty pounds they’re shagging before the day is out,’ Olly replied. ‘Have you seen the way he looks at her?’

Beth drifted over, looking a touch concerned. ‘Do you think they know there’s a storm coming?’

‘There is?’ Lucy asked.

‘Yeah. A big one. I hope they don’t go too far or they’ll get trapped in it.’

Lucy and Olly raised their eyebrows at one another and said nothing.

*

Lost in conversation as they rambled along the coiling coastal path, Hardy and Ellie went far further than they meant to. By the time they turned back, the sky was growing black and thunder was rumbling in the distance.

‘Looks like it’s going to be a doozy,’ Ellie said, biting her lip.

And she was right. The wind soon picked up and in their exposed position on the cliffs it was liable to tear them to shreds. The rain fell sideways, piercing them like arrows. They fled down to the inland path, which was longer but more sheltered, and struggled on. The thunder continued to rumble threateningly and the sky vomited violent, unending deluges upon them.

A flash of lightning convinced Ellie that it was too dangerous to press on any further. Seizing Hardy’s arm, she shouted something unintelligible in the din and led him back towards the coast.

Trusting her instincts, Hardy followed without protest. He soon saw their destination; a lighthouse, tall and strong and gleaming in the darkness, a nebulous white sentinel sternly watching over the sea.

They reached the door. Hardy tried the handle but it was bolted securely. Ellie knelt down and began poking around the threshold.

She moved a stone aside. ‘Come on, come on – yes!’

Triumphantly, she drew out a key. Hardy blinked at her, his mouth forming a question that could not be heard over the din.

Her hands trembling, Ellie cursed to herself as she stuffed the key into the lighthouse lock. After several frenzied moments there was a click and she threw the door open. The two of them gladly tumbled inside, and she turned and slammed the door shut, straining as the wind tried to force itself in bodily after her.

‘Christ!’ she exclaimed, her voice echoing blasphemously off the walls. She shook all over and fumbled for a switch. Presently a light came on, illuminating a well-preserved interior. Apart from the light switch, the lighthouse had been made to look as it had some hundred and fifty years ago. Some information plaques were stuck on the walls and Hardy realised that the building functioned as a museum.

'Jesus, that's a hell of a storm out there,' Ellie remarked. 'Brrr! We might end up having to stay the whole night here if that keeps up.'

She stamped her feet. ‘How did you know…?’ Hardy began, gesturing at the key.

‘I used to volunteer here when I was younger,’ she explained, her teeth chattering. ‘Same guy still runs the place, Old Jeff, the last lighthouse keeper. He was old twenty years ago. He must be ancient now. And,’ she paused to give herself a brisk shake, spraying Hardy with water droplets, ‘fortunately for us, he’s a creature of habit.’

She held up the key and smiled.

'Fortunately,' Hardy agreed. As he adjusted to the cramped, cylindrical space, he sniffed dubiously. There was an old, earthy smell to the lighthouse, the kind that aged churches and undercrofts are wont to possess. It leached from the stones and mortar beneath the crumbling plaster, while the briny ocean whispered through the cracks and chinks in the structure. It was, to Hardy, an entirely unpleasant scent, an unnatural marriage of earth and sea, stone and water. If a sea-cliff could breathe, this was the air it would disgorge.

Ellie had no such issues. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, a fond smile on her face. ‘Ah. I’ve missed this place.’ She walked in a slow circle around the room, running her hand along the wall. ‘Built in 1840 if I remember right, to replace the old lighthouse that crumbled into the sea. A victim of the cliff falls. Before _that_ lighthouse was built, St Bede’s Church up on the hill used to be our beacon, all the way back in Norman and medieval times when Broadchurch was nothing but a little fishing community. The church was clearly visible from the water by day, and when we burned a beacon from bell tower we could guide the ships by night. It’s where our name comes from – the sailors used to look for the broad church on the sea. “The broad church light will guide thee home,”' she quoted happily. 'Apparently even today the church has the right to fly the Blue Ensign, but you might need to double check with Paul on that.’

Hardy followed her lead and touched the wall, brushing smooth plaster, then the gritty rock beneath it. His hand came away dirty and he rubbed his fingertips together. Glancing at the spiral staircase, he followed its path upwards with his eyes.

Ellie noticed his gaze shift heavenward. She seized his sleeve. ‘Come. Let me show you the light.’

‘Does it still work?’ he asked as she dragged him up the narrow stairs.

‘Nah. Decommissioned in 1987. They replaced it with a little automatic thing, which I think they replaced again just recently. It’s situated not far from here. We probably passed it on our way.’

They crept higher and higher and came to the narrow keeper’s room. The enormous light tower, almost twice as tall as a man, took up most of the space. It was all brass and clockwork fittings, surrounded by hundreds of mirrors. Hardy marvelled at it.

‘It’s been through a few changes,’ Ellie said softly. She looked upon the light with supreme affection, like she was greeting an old friend. ‘Way back in the day, there would have been fifteen lamps of blazing whale oil – sperm whale oil was the best, if you could get it. The keeper had to refill them constantly. Then it was replaced with kerosene. Then with an electronic fitting. Those mirrors,’ she pointed, ‘they’re perfectly set up to magnify and magnify the light until the beam that shoots out there,’ she pointed at the large window, ‘is bright enough to be seen by ships miles out at sea. This clockwork mechanism here, this had to be wound by hand, and it kept the light physically revolving – around and around – at a precise, distinct beat, so that anyone out there who saw the beat could easily tell which lighthouse he was looking at. Sort of like morse code.’

She stood on tiptoes and looked out through the window. Motioning Hardy over, she pointed.

‘You see it?’ she asked. Hardy nodded. A light was blinking out across the sea, not too far away from them. ‘That’s the new lighthouse. Just a light on a little raised plinth, out on an outcrop so kids can’t get to it. All automated and solar powered, but it still keeps the same beat of revolutions that this lighthouse kept all those years ago.’

She watched the blinking light, mesmerised, and placed a fist over her heart, tapping her chest in time to the blinks. She smiled. ‘It’s like a pulse. The heartbeat of Broadchurch.’

‘The broad church light on the sea,’ Hardy mused. He sneezed violently and Ellie jumped.

‘Oh God, sorry – here I am banging on about lighthouses and you’re freezing to death. Take off your wet things, let me just…’

She began rummaging in a tiny cupboard that was slightly out of place with the lighthouse’s 19th century aesthetic.

‘Come on I know it’s in here – yes!’

She came up triumphant with a bundle of thick woollen blankets and a small box containing some preserved food.

‘Thank you, Old Jeff,’ Ellie sighed. ‘Twenty years and he’s not changed.’

‘Are you sure we’re allowed to be here? Taking his stuff?’ Hardy asked.

‘Jeff always keeps things here in case of emergencies. The weather gets so rough sometimes that he likes to stay prepared in case he gets trapped. Personally, I think he _likes_ getting trapped here. He always was bitter about having to leave. Anyway, this counts as an emergency, so,’ she tossed him a muesli bar, ‘dinner is served.’

He squinted at the packaging. ‘This expired six months ago.’

‘Well excuse the fuck out of me, princess, next time we’re trapped in a lighthouse during a storm I’ll be sure to pack the caviar.’ She threw a second bar at his head.

‘I don’t eat fish,' he reminded her. 'Or their by-products.’

Unimpressed, Ellie unwrapped a muesli bar and crunched it threateningly.

Hardy followed suit with a sigh and kicked off his shoes. Ellie hung up her dripping orange jacket. She was bone dry underneath it, apart from her trousers and socks. Hardy’s coat had not been as faithful as hers, however, and he was soaked through. He paused before taking anything off.

‘How far is it back to Broadchurch?’ he asked.

‘Six miles. Five and three quarters, being honest.’

A thoughtful crease formed on Hardy’s brow and a tremendous clap of thunder could be heard.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Ellie said flatly.

He conceded the fact and asked her to turn around. She did, and he stripped out of his wet clothes, hung them up to dry and wrapped himself tightly in a blanket.

His teeth chattered and he sneezed again. ‘This blanket smells funny.’

‘Would you rather freeze?’ Ellie asked. ‘Come on, don’t be so grumpy! This is kind of fun, don’t you think? Like an adventure.’

‘No.’

Wrapped up snugly in her own blanket, she ignored him. She peered at her phone. ‘No signal. What about you?’

Hardy checked. His fingers were almost too numb to work the buttons. ‘Nothing,’ he replied, and jammed his hands into his armpits to warm them.

‘Damn. I wanted to check in with Luce. Let her know I’m okay. They’ll be worried about us.’

‘At least you know the boys are safe,’ Hardy said, and Ellie had to agree with him. Her own predicament meant nothing as long as her sons were safe and sheltered.

‘Luce would’ve taken one look at the weather forecast, done a snack run to Tesco’s and immediately barricaded everyone inside. They’re probably playing video games and making themselves sick on fizzy drink and crisps.’

A yearning look passed over her. For the first time she seemed regretful, and no longer able to summon any enthusiasm for her present situation.

‘At least it’s dry here,’ Hardy put in, trying to be optimistic for her sake. ‘I mean, things could be worse.’

As if on cue lightning forked across the sky, a distant clap of thunder was heard and the lights died.

Ellie turned to Hardy. ‘You had to jinx it, didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’

Ellie picked up her ugly brown Mum bag and started sorting through it. She found a small LED torch. ‘I’ll go check the fusebox. Maybe I can fix this.’

She descended the stairs. In her absence, Hardy did his best to dry off and get warm. He laid out his wet clothes and, feeling that his t-shirt wasn’t actually too bad, he pulled it back on.

Ellie returned. ‘No good. It’s dark everywhere out there. Looks like there’s a power outage all through Broadchurch.’

‘Perfect,’ Hardy sighed. ‘Is there something ironic about this being a lighthouse with no light?’

‘I was going to suggest that we go downstairs where there’s more room,’ Ellie began, ‘but I think we should stay up here for now. At least there’s a big window here so it’s not completely dark. Just don’t roll down the stairs in your sleep.’

‘I don’t think we’ll be sleeping in this,’ Hardy pointed out.

‘No,’ Ellie agreed with a sigh. ‘Probably not.’

She found an old newspaper and started crumpling it into balls, which she then stuffed in the chinks and gaps around the windowsill, trying to make it airtight. The whining, breathing sound died down a little. As she looked for more newspaper in the cupboard, she let out an exclamation of ‘Eureka!’

‘What?’ Hardy asked.

She turned around with a little kerosene cooker in her hand.

‘Thank you, Old Jeff,’ Hardy remarked.

‘We’ll replace it all tomorrow,’ Ellie promised as she set it up.

Within minutes she had the little cooker blazing. With the provisions Old Jeff had left behind they managed to make a fairly decent little spread. When they were done, they held their fingers out to the exposed, bluish flames, entranced by the subtle flicker of the fire.

‘Wish we could make a cup of tea,’ Ellie said.

‘Or any hot drink, really,’ Hardy said. He punctuated this with a sneeze.

Ellie glanced at him. She got up and retrieved her orange coat. ‘Put this on,’ she said. ‘It’s dry now.’

‘No. You wear it.’

She shook it at him. ‘Take it. All your other clothes are wet. At least some of mine survived.’

There was an argument. Under duress, Hardy finally assented. He let the blanket fall. Ellie realised he was only in pants and a t-shirt. Colour rose to her cheeks and she turned away as he tugged the orange jacket on and drew the blanket around him again.

Ellie sat down. ‘I’ll feel terrible if you catch a cold,’ she said guiltily. ‘I should have paid more attention. Should’ve realised how far out we were.’

‘S’ok. Not your fault.’ He zipped the jacket all the way to the top and shoved his hands in the pockets. ‘It’s warm,’ he conceded. It smelled like her, too. He breathed in subtly.

‘Good, huh?’ she said, smiling. ‘Warm, waterproof, more pockets than you could possibly want or need…’

‘Visible,’ Hardy added.

‘Yes, visible,’ she laughed. ‘It suits you. Maybe I should buy you one.’

He frowned at her.

‘They come in black,’ she offered.

‘No.’

She looked hard at him for a moment, a playful smile on her face, as if committing the image to memory, then she turned and moved the little cupboard closer to the window and sat down.

Hardy remained by the flickering ring of flames, watching her. She sat with one knee drawn up, upon which she rested her forearm as she looked wistfully at the blinking light upon the sea. Her fingers tapped in time to the blinks.

‘Most people think lighthouse keepers live alone,’ she mused, ‘and that’s true of some. But most lived with their families, or they took shifts with other keepers. The keeper who first ran this place, he had a wife and seven kids. They lived in a little cottage down the hill, where it’s more sheltered from the elements. It’s gone now, but if you know where to look you can see the foundations. His eldest son took on the trade from him. Married, and brought his wife to live at the cottage. And so it went through generations, right up until Old Jeff had to give up the trade.’

She rested her head against the sill. ‘Always wondered what that would’ve been like. It must’ve felt like there was no-one in the world but them.’

‘Sounds like a dream.’

‘Really?’ her arm dropped and she turned to him. ‘Sounds like a nightmare to me.’

‘Living alone with your family out in the countryside with no one to bother you? No, that’s a dream.’

‘I forgot, you hate people. Everyone except Daisy,’ she teased. She turned back to the window. ‘I suppose there is a kind of romance to it. An “us against the world” kind of thing. The keeper and his wife. But if the man turned out to be a bastard, it’d be hell.’

‘Or the woman,’ Hardy put in gently.

‘Or the woman,’ she conceded. ‘It’d take a special two to live like that.’

‘I suppose if they loved each other it’d be all right.’

‘In a case like this, it would take more than love.’

‘More?’

‘You need a community,’ Ellie said. ‘People to rely on. To turn to for help. What if one of the kids got sick? What if the husband had a fall? What if they didn’t have enough clothes or food to survive the winter? Love isn’t going to mend a broken bone or put food in your kids’ mouths.’

She rubbed her finger along the sill, finding the scratched graffiti of previous occupants. ‘Still,’ she smiled, ‘I guess they must’ve got on all right through the years.’

She motioned him over and showed him the carved names.

‘Look,’ she said with a sweep of the torch beam. ‘Liza-Lu. 1848. And here. Abraham. These are the children of the first keeper.’

She began to hunt around the sill with the torch.  

‘I carved my own name here, somewhere,’ she said.

Hardy was appalled. ‘You vandalised a museum?’

‘Hey. I worked here for nearly six months. I’m allowed to make my mark.’

She hit upon the carving with an exclamation of delight.

Hardy squinted. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Here.’ She grasped his hand, found his index finger and guided it downward, outlining the letters with it.

‘E… L… L…’ Hardy muttered. He paused and Ellie withdrew her hand. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’

‘I never finished it. Old Jeff caught me and gave me the bollocking of a lifetime. That’s how I got fired.’

She started rummaging through her bag. A Swiss army knife fell out and she snapped open the blade. Holding the torch under her chin, she began to determinedly scratch out the rest of the letters.

‘Is that really necessary?’ Hardy asked.

‘Yes.’

She finished it and sat back. With one puff she blew away the stone dust, and the graffiti was finally complete.

‘Want to do yours?’ she asked, offering him the knife.

‘No thank you.’

‘Suit yourself.’ She put it away. Sorting through the bag, she pulled out a juice box, the kind meant for toddlers, inserted a straw in the top and began sucking thoughtfully. Hardy was perplexed.

‘Is there anything you don’t have in that bag?’

‘Well, I’ve looked and looked but I can’t seem to find your manners,’ she rejoined.

Hardy scowled at her and she smiled through lips still pursed around the straw.

‘Want some?’ she proffered the juice.

‘No thank you.’

For a moment the sound of her slurping the half-empty box competed with the keening of the wind. But at last she crumpled it and placed it aside, and the wind moaned its victory. Another clap of thunder sounded. Hardy shuddered.

‘Mint?’ Ellie asked, drawing out Tic Tacs.

‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Hardy said. She brandished the mints more insistently and he sighed and accepted two. They sat next to each other on the floor and sucked.

‘It’s funny to think, but I wouldn’t be here without this lighthouse,’ she said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. All my ancestors were sailors. This light kept them safe at sea and brought them home again. My grandfather was a smuggler, and I can still remember him talking about the church light guiding him safely to shore.’

‘They still called it the church light even then?’

Ellie smiled at him. Picking up the torch, she shone the beam on a brass name plate that hung above the light. Stamped on the metal was the word CHURCHLIGHT.

‘Amazing to think of all the history that’s behind that name,’ she said. She switched the torch off. ‘Generations of people, going back to my ancestors who lived as fishermen beneath the light of a broad stone church.’

Hardy lowered his eyes and turned to her. In the flickering light of the kerosene flames, he fancied he could see the shape of Ellie’s soul, liquid and trembling in her limbs and sweet face. A sudden emotion gripped him and he couldn’t breathe, so enamoured was he with her – _her,_ this Broadchurch native who seemed to be formed out of the earth and the cliffs and the waves.

He was overcome with the desire to touch her. Her hair was drying and curled into wild ringlets. Reaching out, he grasped one of the more unruly locks and stroked it behind her ear.

‘Oh,’ she murmured, self-consciously flattening her hair with her hands. ‘Thanks. Sorry. Tell me if I’m boring you with all this history talk.’

‘Mm. No, I like listening to you talk.’

‘Sure my wittering doesn’t get on your nerves?’

He shook his head. ‘You’re about the only person I like talking to.’

 _The only person I_ can _talk to._

She looked pleased and shifted a little closer to him. ‘It was nice today. Apart from the whole getting stuck in a lighthouse thing.’ She paused. ‘I’d like it if you visited more often.’

‘I’d like that too.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

‘Because you’ve got a life. Job, kids, friends… I always feel like I’m intruding.’

She sat up straight and fixed him with a puzzled stare. ‘Why the hell would you think that?’

Hardy looked mildly embarrassed. He stared at the flames. She touched his shoulder and said gently:

‘There’s always a place for you in my life.’

A subtle agony gripped him. There was one place in Ellie’s life that he wished, above all else, to occupy - the empty space her husband had left behind. Yet he doubted that was the space she had in mind.

Ellie withdrew with a sense of disappointment. Moving to the other side of the cramped space, she arranged the blankets and stretched out on the ground. The floor on this part of the landing was wooden rather than stone, which afforded some relief from the cold, but it was still hard and uncomfortable.

‘We should try to get some sleep,' Ellie said demurely.

‘Should we leave…?’ Hardy gestured to the kerosene cooker.

‘Yeah. We’ve got the torch if we need light, so we might as well let it burn. Get a little warmth from it.’

Hardy huddled under his own blankets and lay down. He occasionally stole glances at Ellie, and more than once he caught her stealing glances at him. At last, embarrassed, she rolled over and turned her back to him.

He could see her shivering under the blankets.

‘You're cold,’ he said.

She huddled into a tight ball. He saw the back of her head nod.

He bit his lip. He wrestled with the compulsion, but he couldn't stop himself from saying it:

‘I could – ah – keep you warm.’

There was a tense silence. Ellie rolled over and looked at him. ‘Is this a pick up line?’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No, it’s – forget it.’

A draft groaned through the lighthouse, causing the flames to flicker. Ellie weighed up her options for a moment, then got up and marched across to him.

‘Sit up.’

He did. She lay one of the blankets over the wooden floorboards for insulation. Hardy scooted onto it and she dropped to her knees next to him.

‘So how should we – how are we doing this?’ she asked.

Hardy wet his lips. ‘If you lie down I can – uh -’

He cautiously put a hand on her hip and guided her down. She curled onto her side, almost in the foetal position. Hardy folded himself behind her, shuffling into position until he was spooning her.

‘Is that okay?’

She nodded, biting her lip. Hardy pulled the blankets over them and tucked them in. They fit together like stacked spoons.

‘Can you… can you hold me a little tighter?’ Ellie asked.

‘Nnh.’

He shuffled forward. It was not enough for Ellie, though, for she grasped his hand and positioned it tightly around her. Hardy sank into the hollow of her neck and her wild, curly hair brushed his nose. He flattened it with one hand.

‘Tickly,’ he explained, quickly stroking it down.

For several seconds there was no sound but that of the wind and the rain.

‘Bit weird, isn’t it?’ Ellie said.

‘Nice, though,’ Hardy murmured.

‘Yeah. At least you’re warm.’

She began drawing circles on the hand around her waist.

‘Hey, Ellie?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m glad it was you.’

‘What?’

‘This. There’s no-one I’d rather be stuck with in a lighthouse during a storm than you.’

She let out a snuffly giggle. ‘It could be worse. It could’ve been Dirty Brian. Imagine having to cuddle with him for warmth.’

‘God, I don’t want to think about that.’

‘I bet he smells awful.’

‘Dirt under all his fingernails…’

She giggled again and began to stroke his hand with more confidence, dividing the fingers and examining them.

‘Your hands are rather rough, aren’t they?’ she remarked.

He responded to her touch and stroked up and down her soft digits. ‘Mmm. Not like yours.'

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich smell of Ellie’s hair and skin. She was so _human_. There was no room for poetic metaphors here, no need for them. She was human. She was Ellie, and she was in his arms. To him, that in itself was divine.

Thus clasped together, they slowly warmed up. A kind of fuzzy glow settled over them. He’d forgotten how pleasurable this kind of contact could be, and quite unbeknownst to her he smiled into her hair.

But Ellie could not quite get comfortable. The hard floor was causing her some grief, and she began wriggling. As her soft arse rubbed against his crotch, feelings of a different kind rose within him - and something else, too. He flushed.

Ellie squirmed and sighed. Grabbing Hardy’s other arm, she lay it flat behind her ear and lay her head upon it, using his bicep as a pillow. Every touch sent shivers through him. He swallowed thickly and scooted his hips back a little. She made a soft complaining noise and wriggled back so she was flush against him. He moved again. The position was clearly not satisfying her, for she sighed and sat up.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly.

She did not say anything, but rolled him onto his back and settled almost entirely on top of him, using his chest as a pillow. Once she seemed satisfied, Hardy curved his arm tentatively around her.

‘This – uh, better?’

She made a contented noise. ‘Softer.’

‘Okay.’ Hardy pulled the blankets flush around her.

The seconds ticked by. Ellie said, ‘I can feel your heartbeat.’

She pulled the zip down on the coat and spread her hand across his chest, the fingers picking at the grey fabric of his t-shirt. She traced patterns across his ribs, brushing the nipple as she explored with her hand. Each feather-light, skimming touch sent jolts to his core. His whole body ached under her touch.

_God I want to kiss her._

She began running her cold feet up and down his calf.

_Among other things._

‘Your heart,’ Ellie murmured, and he felt it jump and hammer skittishly at her words, ‘it's like listening to a seashell. Full of the ocean.’

Hardy couldn’t stand the incessant stroking of her fingertips any more. He placed his hand over hers and held it flat.

Unperturbed by the gesture, Ellie said, 'it’s been so long since a man held me like this.'

‘Me too.’

‘Since a man held you?’ Ellie teased. ‘Oh, so you have been cuddling with Dirty Brian after all!’

‘You know what I mean,’ he sighed.

‘I know. Was it Tess?’

‘Yeah. You?’

‘Joe,’ she replied. ‘He wasn’t the last person I – but he was the last to hold me like this.’

‘You’ve been with other men?’

‘Man,’ she corrected. ‘Dunno if I’d really count it, though.’

He could feel her sadness. It told a story in itself. He squeezed her. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. S’not your fault.’

She continued to languorously run her toes up and down his calf.

‘Uh,’ said Hardy stiffly. ‘Your leg.’

‘What?’

‘Um. Rather you didn’t.'

‘What? Is it turning you on?’ she teased.

‘Uh,’ was Hardy’s reply as Ellie draped her leg across him instead. The movement brought her into contact with something - something rather private, and she tensed, suddenly flying bolt upright.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘It bloody _is_ turning you on!’

Hardy passed his hands over his face. ‘I’m in full body contact with an attractive woman,’ he said in resignation. ‘I can’t help it. Especially not when you're doing all - all _that_ with your hands.'

Ellie grew still. ‘Attractive?’ she repeated, as if it were the only word she’d heard.

‘Yes.’

‘You think I’m attractive?’

‘Is that really so hard to believe?’

‘Well – a little. I never thought you saw me like that. I’ve always just been Miller – just your cranky DS. I never thought…’

‘God, Ellie, after everything with Sandbrook, you really think - ?’

He bit down on the words. Ellie blinked.

‘Do you want to kiss me?’ she asked abruptly.

He looked sharply at her. A part of him wildly shouted that this had to be a trap, but he decided to gamble.

‘I want to do lots of things to you.’

Ellie sank lower on her elbow, moving tantalisingly closer. Her fingers fanned across his heart. ‘Like what?’

Hardy rose up to meet her. The dim firelight flickered on their shadowed faces. ‘Keep you warm,’ he suggested, cupping the back of her head and tangling his fingers in her curls. He pulled her forward.

Ellie yielded to him and closed her eyes, her lips parting to fit his own as he kissed her. Hardy kept it short and sweet before he drew back to guage her reaction. Her eyes fluttered open.

‘Okay?’ he asked softly.

Ellie responded by rolling on top of him, stroking his cheek as she kissed him. One hand moved downwards and found the traitorous bulge.

‘Ahh – ah, Ellie, are you sure -’

‘Thought you were gonna warm me up?’ she challenged, and her confident, baiting tone banished all hesitation. He sat up and pulled her into his lap, his hands roughly exploring her body as they shared increasingly hungry kisses. He began to leave a trail of kisses down her neck as she rubbed him through the fabric of his pants.

'Why does it feel like we're bowing to the inevitable?' Ellie sighed as Hardy left love bites on the skin around her collarbones.

Hardy had his eager hands under her layers and was squeezing her breasts, but he seemed agitated by the amount of clothing that separated them. He threw off his coat so that he was only in his t-shirt, then picked at Ellie’s own clothes. As their kisses grew more and more passionate, their hot mouths melding in the frigid air, Hardy asked plaintively:

‘Can I see you?’

‘Not much to see in this light,’ she pointed out, breathing heavily. ‘And it’s cold.’

‘Please?’ he begged.

 She hesitated. A self-conscious blush crept over her, but her trust in Hardy overrode her shyness. ‘Oh, all right.’

Still straddling him, she shrugged off the layers. The cold was so biting that she had to pull her jacket back on, and simply left it unzipped so he could run his hands freely up her soft belly. He lingered on the soft stretch marks, tracing each one in turn before he stroked up her sternum and pinched her nipples. He buried his face in her warm breasts and inhaled.

Flushed, embarrassed, she twitched and laughed under the pressure of his roving tongue. ‘Your beard tickles,’ she said, and suddenly her nipple was between his teeth and she wasn’t laughing anymore.

Taking her in his arms, he flipped her over and pressed his hard weight upon her hips. He kissed her, then shuffled aside so he could pull off her knickers. Experimentally, he played with her entrance, parting the folds and dipping a finger inside her, smearing the wetness around her swelling clit.

A moan of satisfaction escaped her when he worked two fingers inside her. He kept his thrusts shallow at first, until her rolling hips encouraged him to move deeper. He curled his fingers hard against her walls, stretching and loosening the tight muscles. He began to move more rapidly and when he pulled out to circle her throbbing clit she swore loudly, jerking and shuddering against him.

Slowly, he worked a third finger in and Ellie’s hips bucked entirely of their own accord. Fucking in and out, his fingers made a filthy, wet sound, and when he crooked them hard he found _just_ the right place.

‘Alec,’ she gasped, her voice slightly shaky. He'd always hated his name but  _fuck,_ suddenly he can't think of any sound in the world that could be sweeter. Unable to stand it any longer, he withdrew his fingers. She whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness and clutched at him. The wanting, the craving, the _need_ that emanated from her – it was utterly intoxicating to him. His head swam with the smell of her.

He stripped off his pants and she immediately curled her hand around him. He’d been rock hard from the moment he’d touched her dripping cunt, and she quickly divined that he was more than ready. Spreading her legs invitingly around him, she pulled him forward. He took his cock in one hand and rubbed it back and forth against her entrance, slicking himself in her wetness.

‘Uh,’ Ellie paused, trembling. ‘Do you – do you have a condom?’

He groaned. ‘Ah. No. Nn… I don’t.’

The feeling of the head of his cock rubbing her clit made Ellie’s decision a swift one. ‘Doesn’t matter. M’on the pill.’

‘Gooood,’ he sighed, guiding his cock inside her.

She struggled a little with his girth and gasped at the delicious, almost painful pressure, the feeling of being _stretched_ by him. Her hips rolled up and he sank inside her with a jolt, getting halfway before a cry escaped her.

She sounded as if she were in pain. Hardy nudged her forehead with his own, communicating his concern.

‘Big,’ she explained, gasping. ‘Bigger - than I’m used to.’

He slid out and pushed deep inside her again. She jolted and whimpered. Her fingernails scraped across his back, hard enough to mark him. Her teeth were chattering slightly – from cold or from something else, he could not tell – and she clenched her jaw to steady herself. He pulled out and thrust a third time, finally forcing himself all the way down to the base, and she cried out.

He was about to ask her again whether she was all right when she shuffled her hips and changed position so she could wrap her legs around him. Breathing hard, she mumbled:

‘Slow.’

Obeying her, he began to thrust deep and hard. She was obscenely wet and tight around his cock and so fucking _hot_. The contrast between her heat and the cold that was pricking his sweat-soaked skin made him shudder. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold out like this.

She moved her hips in time with him, rocking him in and out. 'Feels good,' she sighed contentedly. 'Feel good inside me.'

He bent his head and they shared a fuzzy kiss. As she loosened up she encouraged him to go a little faster. A deft twist of her hips made his vision white out for a second and a long groan escaped him.

‘Oh, Ellie… God _you_ feel so good,’ he mumbled, printing wet kisses on her collarbone and neck, working up to her jawline. ‘So fucking _hot,_ ’ he growled into her ear as he nipped her earlobe.

His fingers found her clit and he started stroking roughly.

‘Ah – gently,’ she said, and he apologised with kisses. He caressed her a little more tenderly, his fingers drawing slow circles on the sensitive nub.

She’d been close for a while, and a slow thrust coupled with a deft stroke quickly took her over the edge. She came with a sobbing whimper, dragging her nails across his back. Her muscles clenched deliciously around him and he uttered something obscene into her ear.

Almost a minute later he followed suit and came inside her. She felt the hot wetness fill her and she stroked his hair, massaging his scalp as he shuddered through it.

For a long time neither of them moved.

Then, regretfully, Hardy withdrew his softening cock and rolled to one side. The hard floorboards, only somewhat muffled by the blanket, offered no comfort.

‘I think I’m gonna bruise,’ Ellie commented, rubbing her shoulder.

‘Not the most… comfortable place,’ he agreed.

Ellie made a noise. Her nose crinkled.

‘Hm?’ Hardy asked.

‘Mess,’ she sighed. What had gone in was trickling out. Her thighs were gleaming wetly in the dull, sickly light.

Hardy hummed and settled between her legs. He began licking away the mess, cleaning her with broad sweeps of his tongue.

‘Oh,’ said Ellie.

He reached the juncture of her thighs and licked, parting the lips and tasting the mixture of their juices there. He sucked the folds and his tongue flicked her clit. He wanted to make her come again, but Ellie bucked uncomfortably and tensed up. Hardy paused.

‘No?’

‘Um.’ Her hands were clenched into fists.

‘You don’t want…?’

‘Um… it’s just that… Joe never – he never really – I mean, he wasn’t all that adventurous.’

‘Adventurous?’ Hardy echoed incredulously. ‘But this isn’t… this is just normal.’

He was met with silence.

‘I don’t have to,’ he said, shuffling up next to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘it’s not you – honestly – I’m just… not used to it.’

‘It’s okay. I understand.’

He felt her shiver. ‘Will you hold me?’

‘Yeah.’

They both put on as many layers of dry clothing as they could, then snuggled tightly under the blanket.

‘That did warm me up,’ Ellie murmured.

Hardy pressed his chin thoughtfully to her shoulder. A line formed between his brows. He couldn’t help but be a little concerned for this woman. She was nearly forty and she saw receiving oral as adventurous.

He had to say it. ‘Joe must’ve been shit in bed.’

Ellie started giggling. Her body shook with laughter. ‘He was,’ she said with a throaty sigh, wiping her eyes. ‘Tiny dick and he didn’t know how to use it. But I loved _him,_ you know? It didn’t matter because I just loved him. I think I liked holding him, being with him, cuddling, more than anything else.’

Hardy began stroking her curly hair. She turned into his caresses.

‘He was good with his hands, though,’ she went on. ‘His fingers. That was always where he redeemed himself.’ There was another long pause. ‘He touched me with those hands after he murdered Danny. Stroked me, teased me, made me come with the same hands that choked the life out of my best friend’s son.’

She was crying. Alarmed, cursing himself for being so stupid as to bring up Joe, Hardy tried to soothe her. ‘Hey. Hey, it’s all right…’

‘The day after it happened. I still remember what he said. “I know something that’ll make you feel better.” I know something that’ll make you feel better,’ she repeated bitterly. ‘Can you believe… with the _same hands_ that killed Danny… and the worst part is I liked it. You should have heard me moaning, _begging_ for it - begging him to fuck me when he had Danny’s blood on his hands…’

She curled into the foetal position, great, ugly sobs wracking her body. Hardy wrapped both arms around her and squeezed her as tightly as he could.

‘Hey. Hey. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know,’ he said desperately.

Her teeth chattered. ‘It makes me feel so dirty. So tainted. God, I can still feel it sometimes. Still feel those _hands_ on me and it makes me feel – oh God, Alec - !’

She shuddered from head to toe, as though there were bugs crawling under her skin. Her sobs became louder, and all Hardy could do was hold her and soothe her until the spasms subsided.

‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ he murmured, wishing he knew what to say, wishing he could unpack everything he felt for her with words. But his vocabulary was insufficient to express what he felt, so he had to content himself with holding her.

Fortunately, for Ellie, that was enough.

Her sobs finally died away and she lay brokenly on the ground, as still as death.

'The light's going out,' she uttered.

She was right. A nasty smell filled the air as the last of the kerosene burned. They watched, entranced, as the flames died and the light disappeared into wafting smoke.

They did not move for several minutes. Then Ellie slowly touched the hands that were encircling her waist.

‘Your hands feel different to his,’ she murmured.

His fingers parted and she threaded them through her own. ‘How so?'

‘Bigger. Rougher. Not quite as confident. The rest of you is different too.’

‘The hair, for one.’

‘Yes, the hair,’ she agreed, and he thought she might have smiled then. She rolled over and ran a hand up his shirt, the other stroking his brow. ‘I love the hair.’ She ran her fingers up and down his torso. ‘The hairy chest. All those scars…’ she found the different chinks and flaws and lingered contemplatively on them, as if cataloguing them. ‘And everything’s hard and bony. A little bit pointy. A little bit big.’ She playfully squeezed his nose. ‘A little bit crooked.’

She was looking into his eyes, trying to make out their colour in the dim, half-drowned light that came in blinks through the window. ‘I think I love you for being different,’ she said, her forehead creasing.

He cupped her cheek and kissed her at once. There was a reckless ardor to the action, a wildness. Both of them tasted salt.

‘You kiss me differently, too,’ she said, breaking it off and biting her lip.

He nuzzled her nose. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Joe was never so… passionate. He was always just Joe. Safe. Secure. Reliable. My husband. I never really felt like I drove him mad. I suppose it’s because I never did. Because what he really wanted was…’

Her breath caught in her throat and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

‘He used me,’ she shuddered, taking her hand away very slowly. ‘He _used_ my body to control his real desires. I used to fuck a paedophile. A murderer. I -’

She made a retching sound and Hardy bundled her up at once. She was on the verge of a panic attack. He knew the symptoms only too well.

‘Breathe now,’ he said. ‘Hey. Breathe.’

Between comforting her and muttering orders, he managed to get her to regulate her breaths, teaching her one of the breathing exercises a doctor had shown him to manage his own panic attacks. She calmed down, finally growing limp once more.

‘I’m sorry,’ she croaked at last. A little tremor ran through her. ‘I guess this isn’t how you imagined our first time together.’

‘Who said I’ve been imagining our first time together?’

‘I – oh.’

‘Have _you_ been imagining our first time together?’ he probed.

A hot blush came over her cheeks. ‘I – n-no – well – y-yes – I mean…’ There was a pause. ‘Sort of.’

He began laughing. ‘It’s okay. I have too.’

She smacked him. ‘Wanker.’

‘I imagined taking you on a nice date,’ he admitted. ‘Doing something romantic, and then going somewhere… maybe a hotel. Or your house. Mine. Somewhere safe.’

‘Crying in a dingy lighthouse during a storm is not what I envisioned either,’ she assured him.

Hardy curved his arm more closely around her. The fingers tapped a rhythm on her shoulder. ‘You know, I don’t care about it.’

‘What?’

‘Joe. You’re not tainted. I don’t care what your ex-husband is. You’re just Ellie to me. Just… you.’

She wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve got a lot of baggage.’

‘So have I,’ he rejoined. ‘If we’re comparing, we could be here for a while.’

‘God, we’re a pair, aren’t we?’

‘Yes,’ he said, nuzzling her. ‘We are.’

*

They managed to steal a few fitful hours of rest. It was dark and the wind and rain continued to howl, but they were safe. Hardy couldn’t help thinking that with Ellie by his side, with _her_ as his shelter, he could endure anything.

Eventually, a matter of some urgency came up, and Hardy began to reluctantly disentangle himself from her arms. She grunted and clutched him, unwilling to let go.

‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’ he asked.

‘Can’t sleep,’ she muttered. ‘Ground’s too hard.’ She sighed and rolled onto her back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Need the loo.’

‘Wear my raincoat,’ Ellie advised. ‘And take the torch.’

Hardy did both of these things.

‘Be careful on the stairs,’ Ellie called after him, watching with some concern as he descended. ‘They’re narrow, and you have big feet. Hold the handrail!’

He grunted and waved his hand in acknowledgement.

It already seemed so cold without him. ‘Come back quickly,’ she said as his footsteps faded.

She did not hear the door open, but she felt the sudden rush of freezing air that swept in. Drawing the blankets around her, Ellie shuddered. She glanced up at the window, drawn to that square of dim light. It was so oppressively dark that her limbs almost felt heavy with shadow. Her skin broke out in goosebumps as she looked around. Wind moaned through the cracks and she rubbed her shoulders in agitation.

She’d never felt frightened in Churchlight before – but then again, she’d never been here when it was so late, or dark, or cold. The centuries seemed to hang oppressively over her head, and she fancied that there were spirits trapped in these old walls, the restless shades of grieving keepers, or drowned men, or murdered children. A sudden terror seized her that Hardy would not come back – that he would leave her here in the dark with these ghosts. She was on the verge of tears when a second, breathing moan of wind assured her that the lighthouse door had opened again. She counted every footfall, and when Hardy stepped into the room bearing light in his hand, she sat up and held out her arms to him. Throwing off the wet raincoat, he dove gladly back into their little nest.

‘It’s like a bloody biblical flood out there,’ he remarked. She kissed away the raindrops clinging to his face, and he grunted in surprise, but not displeasure, at the affectionate display. ‘I feel like we’re gonna wake up tomorrow to find the rest of the world washed away, with us as the only survivors.’

‘That might not be so bad,’ Ellie mused, running her hands through his hair to get out the water. ‘Maybe our kids would survive too, and it could just be the five of us. We’ll live here – like the lighthouse keeper and his family. No-one in the world but us.’

‘Mmm,’ he said, leaning in to her caresses.

‘You’re freezing,’ she commented.

‘You’re warm.’

They managed to achieve thermal equilibrium by rubbing their feet and hands together. Once they were both warm, Ellie kissed his forehead. ‘We should try to get some sleep.’

Hardy hummed. He slid his hand up her shirt and started playing with one of her nipples, circling the areola until it hardened, then rolling the nub gently between thumb and forefinger.

‘That’s not sleeping,’ she pointed out.

He hummed again and cupped her whole breast in his hand. Her breasts were bigger and softer than he’d thought they would be. She tended to wear sports bras and sensible clothes, things that flattened or concealed her assets. He shoved his other hand up her shirt and grasped both of them, rolling them in his palms, just to fully appreciate what he’d been missing out on.

She sighed. ‘Having fun?’

A sharp pinch, sharp enough to make her jump, gave her the answer.

She muttered something about him being a typical bloke and tried not to shiver too obviously at his ministrations.

‘Nice,’ he commented at last.

‘Look out, Shakespeare. Step aside Petrarch,’ Ellie said, flinging out an arm to add some dramatic flair to her words. 'Glad to know I’m such an inspirational muse.’

‘Mm,’ Hardy agreed, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. His beard tickled her and she laughed, squirming slightly. The sound sent an arrow thudding into his heart and he kissed her neck and cheek some dozen times until she squealed.

They both grew quiet. He measured his breathing to match hers.

‘You’re hard again,’ Ellie pointed out.

‘Oh.’ Hardy’s erection was pressing against her thigh. ‘Oh… yeah.’

She rolled over. Without ceremony, she shoved her hand down his pants and grasped his cock. He groaned, and she began a slow tugging motion.

‘What _are_ we going to do about that?’ she mused as she stroked up and down.

He shuddered in her hands. Her thumb found the precum leaking from the tip and she swirled it, running it up and down his shaft.

‘I could use my mouth,’ she suggested, purring into his ear. His cock twitched at the very idea and a strangled sound escaped him. She flicked her tongue against his earlobe, then sucked on it with her lips and just the _thought_ of what that would feel like elsewhere made him weak.

‘Would you like that?’

‘Unnh.’ He nodded. It almost didn’t feel right to ask for that. A voice rose in the back of his mind, one that had been with him since he’d learned of Tess’ infidelity – _you don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve pleasure, no woman would ever want to…_

‘Yes?’ she clarified, tugging down his pants.

‘Yes,’ he managed. ‘Please.’

She scooted under the blankets, and before he could say anything else her hot mouth closed around his cock.

‘Ohh – _ohh_.’ His hips bucked up involuntarily, making her gag slightly. ‘Ahh – sorry.’

‘Easy,’ Ellie murmured. She pressed her forearm to his abdomen. ‘Try to keep still.’

He nodded, swallowing thickly. She tried again, this time going a little slower. She ran her tongue up and down the underside of his shaft, then flicked the tip before running her mouth down again. She was a little hesitant, but certainly not… inexperienced.

Grasping the base of his cock, she took the head into her mouth and gave an experimental suck. That won a loud groan from him. Encouraged, she began bobbing up and down, her fingers curling at his base and delivering a surprise squeeze to his balls.

She didn’t take him very deep, and he thought of what she said before – _big – bigger than I’m used to._ He wondered if that was why – and then _ohhh_ , she took him almost all the way in and his hips stuttered.

He wished he could see her, and just imagining the sight of her with his cock in her mouth was almost too much. But the darkness had other advantages, for every move was a surprise to him, every flick of the tongue, every soft suck, every clench and squeeze of her hands. He wheezed under her ministrations, utterly helpless. His hands turned to claws, digging into the blanket with the effort of keeping still.

Ellie shifted so that his leg was trapped between her thighs. She began to grind her hips subtly, and he could feel the wetness coming through her knickers and – _fuck_ , this was turning her on too – and her mouth was so _hot_ and the pressure was just right and her _tongue –_

She squeezed his balls and he made an obscene sound. ‘Ellie,’ he gasped out, and he felt he should warn her because he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to come in her mouth. ‘Ellie, m’gonna – ahh -’

‘Mmm,’ she replied, and she took him deeper inside her mouth and squeezed the base of his cock.

With that, he was gone.

She sucked it all down, licking his shaft to clean up the mess, without a hint of shame. Hardy lay flat, motionless, staring at the dark canopy above them. His head felt fuzzy, and he couldn’t quite stay focused on what was happening. His breathing sounded shockingly loud in the dark.

‘Alec?’ Ellie murmured as she returned to his side. ‘Hey.'

‘Ungh.’

‘You were very quiet,’ she said, sounding a touch anxious.

‘Mm.'

‘Did I… do something you didn’t like?’

He wet his lips. ‘I liked it,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t worry about that. Just – I don’t talk so much.’

‘But you’d tell me if you didn’t like something?’

He nodded.

‘Good. I was worried…’

‘You’re incredible,’ he said fiercely, wrapping her up in his arms. She snuffled and laughed, and another arrow promptly went thudding into his heart.

Once he had recovered a little more, he started kissing her neck and ran his hand down her body, slipping his fingers in her knickers.

‘Want me to return the favour?’

‘Oh.’ He played with her entrance as he kissed her neck, and she turned her head to the side to grant him better access to her throat. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘You’re wet,’ he remarked.

She was. He slid his fingers over her slit, spreading the moisture over her clit and rubbing gently. Her hips jerked. Biting her lip, she acknowledged him with, ‘nn.’

He pulled the zip down so he could kiss her collarbones. ‘I want to.’

One finger slid inside her. She spasmed, and a second finger plunged inside. His tongue swirled across her skin, drawing patterns. It was odd to find her so shy and silent.

‘Do you want me to?’

A tiny nod. ‘Um. Yes.’

He smiled and began to work his way down her body. But he didn’t get to the main event straight away. He teased her first. She was slightly tense – nervous, he supposed, not used to what he was offering – and he wanted her to loosen up so she could enjoy it more. He kissed her and kissed her, on every part of her he could reach. Pulling aside her clothes, he stroked and sucked her breasts, working his mouth down her body. His fingers teased her in the meantime, pulsing in and out of her, stroking and circling her clit before he pushed back inside her and crooked his fingers hard enough to make her back arch.

She was shivering all over by the time he settled between her thighs, a little from the cold but mostly from anticipation. She sucked in a breath as his mouth roved lower - but he began kissing her inner thighs instead. He felt her huff.

‘Was that disappointment?’ he rumbled. His prickly cheek scraped against the sensitive skin and she twitched.

Stubbornly, she did not respond. He continued to kiss her thigh, then raised his head and smoothly glided over her mound to print an open-mouthed kiss on her abdomen.

She sagged. ‘Oh come _on,’_ she cried. ‘Please.’

‘What was that?’ he asked, propping himself on his elbow and teasing her with his fingers.

‘Please,’ she reiterated, squirming up to meet his hand. ‘P-please. I want it. I want you to.’

‘You want it?’ he purred. He wanted her to want this, wanted her to _beg_ for it.

‘Yes.’

‘You want me to lick you until you come?’

Ellie puffed out her cheeks. She was something of a prude, and ordinarily uncomfortable with bare-faced sex talk. But that was steadily falling away at his touch. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.'

‘All you had to do was ask,’ he said sweetly, and without further ado he buried his face between her legs.

She was embarrassingly wet – dripping, _begging_ for it, her body clearly concurring with the rest of her. He began with broad, flat strokes of his tongue, getting used to the smell and taste of her. His tongue fucked inside her and she gasped, involuntarily clenching. Swiping upwards, he flicked her swollen clit with the tip of his tongue, then enveloped her in his mouth and sucked gently.

‘Oh holy fucking _Christ,’_ said Ellie, bucking violently. ‘Ahh…’

Hardy used one hand to grasp her thigh and pull her down, keeping her steady. With his other hand he reached up and found Ellie’s hand where it was gripping the blanket with all its might. He grasped her and slid his fingers through hers.

He paused to say, ‘tell me if it’s too much,’ and gave her hand a squeeze.

‘N-not. It’s not,’ she panted. ‘Don’t stop.’

He smiled and sucked her again. Her feet clenched, the toes curling against his back, and he lost himself in the task.

He was a lot more comfortable with this. He associated a certain guiltiness with receiving pleasure, but giving pleasure… oh yes, he liked that, he was _good_ at that. He was good at _this._ It had always been Tess’ favourite. He tried some of the moves Tess used to like, but Ellie was not as responsive to them. He moved through some different techniques, listened to Ellie’s moans, her whispered instructions. She threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled hard, guiding him with alternating pressure.

She was soon writhing under him, her breath coming in ragged whimpers. He kept her right on the edge, almost, _almost_ getting her over before he backed off again. It was maddeningly provoking, and only when she pleaded with him for release did he oblige her. Pressing two fingers inside of her, he fucked in and out, then curled them hard against her slick walls and sucked on her clit at the same time. The move speedily reduced her to a twitching, gasping mess and he felt her clench and shudder helplessly around him, barely intelligible sounds emerging from her throat.

She fell back, exhausted. Hardy came up for air and scooted alongside her body, watching her in the dim light as she panted. The cooling sweat on her skin was making her shiver; like a gentleman, he zipped up her coat and retrieved her knickers for her.

‘Good?’ he asked, a touch smugly.

‘Fucking hell, Alec,’ she wheezed, flopping one arm across her eyes. When she recovered enough to look at him, she gave him an embarrassed smile. His face was gleaming wet in the weak light. ‘You’re a mess.’

He agreed with a happy grunt. She grasped his face between her hands, the beard pricking her palms, and kissed him. There was something unbelievably hot about her tasting herself on his mouth.

‘It’s all in your beard,’ she said, crinkling her nose and wiping the moisture away with her thumbs.

‘Good.'

They pulled their clothes back on before they lay down once more. Hardy cradled the back of her skull with his hand and drew her over to lie on his chest. He kissed her hair and rubbed slow circles in the hollow beneath her ear with his thumb.

Ellie drew the blankets over them and snuggled against him. His heartbeat thudded in her ear and she did not think there was any sound in the world she would have found more comforting. She found the disc shape of the pacemaker beneath his skin and rubbed it thoughtfully.

‘I sort of feel cheated.’

‘Cheated?’ Hardy asked.

‘I never realised it could be that good. I mean, I’m not so sheltered that no-one’s _ever_ – but when someone has, it’s never been like that. It’s always been… like a chore. Or…’ She paused. ‘And you do that – just – like it’s normal?’

‘It is normal.’

‘Huh,’ she said. ‘Tess was a lucky woman.’

He grunted.

‘I don’t understand - if she had _that_ to come home to... why would she…?’

‘Obviously something wasn’t satisfying her,’ Hardy said in a resigned voice, and almost three years’ worth of insecurities seemed to join their embrace.

‘Well. If you were _my_ husband…’

She froze, suddenly embarrassed. His heart turning somersaults, Hardy squeezed her.

‘What? If I were your husband, what?’

He couldn’t see in the dark, but he thought he could feel her crying. ‘I don’t think I’d ever let you go. I’d never keep secrets from you. I’d never… oh God, Alec, you didn’t deserve what Tess did to you.’

‘And you didn’t deserve what Joe did to you.’

He thought he might be crying too. They clung to one another tightly.

‘Ellie,’ he murmured, ‘I don’t want this to be a one-off thing. Please tell me – _please_ – that there’s hope for us. A future. You and me. Together.’

‘I want to say yes,’ Ellie said, sounding tortured, ‘but our situation is so fucked up. What will Beth and Mark say? And the kids? Then there’s everything Sharon said about us, and Joe – Joe’s still out there, Alec, he could come back at any moment.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘And where would we live?’ she went on, anguished. ‘Here? You hate Broadchurch. And everyone knows what’s been said about us. Think how they’d talk behind our backs.’

‘I don’t care about that,’ Hardy said, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t care. I just want you. You, and Tom and wee Fred, and Broadchurch too. You’re a package deal, I know that, and I want all of it.’

There was an agonised pause. ‘I’m still married to Joe,’ she confessed, sniffing. ‘I never officially got divorced from him. He wouldn’t let me. I’m still Joe Miller’s wife. The paedophile’s wife. The murderer’s wife.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘This is adultery. Us – would be adultery.’

‘No it’s not. You _know_ you’re not his wife. It doesn’t matter what some piece of paper says, you’re not his.’

‘Then what am I?’

He took her hand, drew it to his lips and kissed her ring finger. ‘Mine. Mine, if you want to be.’

‘Alec Hardy’s mistress?’

‘His other half. His better half.’

She sniffed and lay her cheek against his arm. ‘I think the dark is making us say daft things.’

‘No. I’ve felt this way for a long time. And I'm scared – every time I say goodbye to you, I’m afraid it’s going to be the last time I ever see you. I don’t want that anymore – Ellie, I just want to be with you. I want you.’

‘Baggage and all?’

‘Baggage and all.’

‘I want you too,’ she admitted. ‘You, and your scars, and your baggage, and your shit manners and your stupid beard and your crooked nose and your wonky heart, and everything about you that drives me crazy. I want you. Just as you are.’

She cupped his cheek and kissed him long and hard. He returned it, his fingers curling against the nape of her neck.

‘It won’t be easy,’ she warned.

‘Don’t care.’ He kissed her again. ‘I love you.’

She smiled into his mouth. ‘I love you too.’ The smile faded. ‘It’s kind of fucked up that I feel guilty for that.’

‘I don’t. I’ve spent enough time feeling guilty. I won’t apologise for loving you.’

‘There’s just… so much to think of.’

‘Don’t think of it,’ he crooned. ‘Right now, we’re the only two people in the world.'

‘The lighthouse keeper and his wife.’

‘The lighthouse keeper and her husband,’ Hardy amended.

Ellie drummed a beat against his ribs. She sang softly,

_“Alone within its ancient lands_

_The lighthouse in its silence stands,_

_As fair and strong and true today_

_As in the ages far away.”_

*

Dawn broke, and the daring song of a solitary bird echoed across the drowned landscape. Hardy and Ellie rose with the song, having slept too little and too fitfully to do otherwise. They had feared what might happen when the sun rose, feared that promises made in the dark would perish in the light. But looking steadily at one another, and seeing that nothing but love and honesty had prompted those dark words and dark embraces, they took courage and spoke of the future.

Hardy stood, shivering, intending to get dressed and leave at once, but Ellie was loath to leave their little sanctuary behind, and she pulled him down again. Hardy sat with his back propped against the wall, clasping Ellie around the waist as she straddled him. With a gentle sway of her hips, she sank onto his cock with a sigh.

They had only taken off as many clothes as was necessary, so it was to Hardy’s great amusement that he found himself being taken by Ellie while she was sleep-deprived, messy, and wearing her offensive orange jacket. But she was so sweetly smiley and content that he could not help but think she had never looked more beautiful.

Draping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed him languorously and fucked him slow and deep. It was a supremely affectionate, decadent form of lovemaking, the kind she excelled in. He came with a delicious shudder and used his tongue and fingers to finish her off.

Before they departed, Hardy asked to borrow Ellie's Swiss army knife. She handed it over and he carved his name in the stone next to hers. They kissed beneath the lintel as they left the lighthouse, and it comforted Hardy to know their names were preserved together in that faithful sanctuary.

The walk back into Broadchurch was a slow one. The sun had well and truly risen by the time they came back, and the first thing they saw was the church gleaming wetly in the light. Ellie looked upon the wide churchyard that contained Danny's body and the bones of her ancestors. She had been so full of fears for the future, but the sight of the church seemed to banish them. Suddenly brimming with hope, she took Hardy's hand and they let the light upon the broad church guide them home.

**Author's Note:**

> The information on the church was inspired by the history of St Andrew's Church in Clevedon, where Broadchurch was filmed. The lighthouse I reproduced from the history of my favourite lighthouse - an Australian one, so I have to apologise for any anachronisms since I'm not sure if lighthouse procedure is different in England.


End file.
